


Cat Tails

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam pick up a furry passenger ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Tails

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess the disclaimer is that this is a bit of fluffy crack!ficness.

They were driving along minding their own business when something bristling and growling and with about a thousand tiny, sharp claws swarmed over the back of Dean’s seat and latched onto his chest. “Jesus!” he shouted, and promptly swerved the Impala into a ditch.

And that was how the Winchester brothers made the acquaintance of Jack.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“We’re not keeping it,” Dean growled a few minutes later.

“Oh, come on, man: what do you want to do, leave it by the side of the highway? It’ll get run over.”

“Good.”

Sam and the bedraggled thing nestling in his arms shot Dean an identical look of disdain.

“It’s probably possessed,” Dean pointed out.

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“There’s holy water in the glove compartment. Go ahead: give it a whirl. Bet it claws your face off.”

“It’s a _cat_ , Dean. It’d do that to anyone who dumped water on it.”

Okay, obviously common sense wasn’t working here. The cat demon probably had some kind of anti-logic force field around it. Dean fixed his brother with a stern, uncompromising look he’d stolen from Dad and repeated, “We’re not keeping it.”

“If the cat goes, I go,” Sam said stubbornly, and when the hell had his brother become a card-carrying member of PETA?

“Fine,” Dean said, gritting his teeth. He was going to call Sam’s bluff and then they could get rid of the cat demon and get back on the road. “Get out.”

But Sam wasn’t backing down. Sam was actually shrugging and opening the door and getting out of the car.

“Damn it,” Dean swore, and then leaned over into the now-empty passenger seat and shouted, “Get back in the goddamn car, Sam!”

Sam was grinning as he complied, the cat demon cradled in his arms. Dean could hear the thing purring from the driver’s seat. Could practically feel the vibration of the sound running through the car. That couldn’t be normal, could it?

“First animal shelter we drive by, that thing is toast, you hear me?”

Sam smiled down at the cat demon and scratched behind its ears. “So, what should we name him?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Frowning into the bathroom mirror, Dean prodded the gouges that ‘Jack’ had taken out of his chest during their introduction. If Sam thought that naming the stupid _(probably demonic)_ thing after Dean’s favorite actor was going to pacify him in any way, then he had another think coming. Aside from the fact that it was obviously homicidal, Dean figured there were a few things about the whole situation that just reeked of contrivance.

“How’d it even get in the car?” he shouted into the main room.

“Probably climbed in through the window while we were having lunch,” Sam called back. “We left them down, remember?”

Yeah, maybe. Ok, probably. Even Dean wasn’t going to propose that the thing had picked the locks with one of those machetes it was carrying around and calling ‘claws’. Not out loud, anyway.

“Hey, man: where’s your comb—you know, the black one?”

“Second zipper in my duffel,” Dean responded automatically, and then, as Sam’s ‘thanks’ penetrated, he added, “Why?”

“Jack needs some serious grooming.”

“ _What?_ ” Dean sprinted out into their room to find Sam pulling his comb _(his_ favorite _comb)_ out of the duffel. The ball of fur in question was sprawled out on one of the beds, looking like an oversized rat. _Dean’s_ bed. Torn between shouting at Sam to get his hands off of his comb or kicking the cat off of his bed, Dean ended up just staring in horror as Sam sat down next to the thing and started running the comb through its dirty, matted fur.

“That’s my comb!” Dean finally managed in a strangled voice.

“We’ll give it back after. It’s not like Jack’s an internationally-wanted comb thief or anything.”

Dean’s skin crawled at the thought of using the comb after it had been dragged through that mop of filth. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks. I think I’ll pass on the fleas.”

Sam scratched the cat underneath its chin with his free hand. Fuzzy bastard smirked in a self-satisfied manner and tilted its head into Sam’s fingers.

“Okay, we’ll just keep it for Jack. He’s gonna need one anyway.” He paused, looking at the cat consideringly, and then said, “You know, I think there might be a Maine Coon under there.”

“A what?” Dean was suddenly besieged by images of the cat _(bad enough)_ morphing into a mean-ass raccoon _(even worse)_ in the dark of night. He’d been bitten by a raccoon when he was eleven; they were nasty bitches.

“Maine Coon. It’s one of the long-haired cat breeds.” Sam cocked his head thoughtfully. “Hey, didn’t we pass a pet store on our way here? We should probably pick up some things for Jack.”

“We’re not keeping him!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean’s eyes were fairly popping out of his head at the amount of stuff Sam was tossing into the shopping cart. “No way he needs all that,” he finally protested when Sam tossed in a plastic green stick with a string and a tuft of pink feathers hanging off of one end.

“You want him to be happy, don’t you?” Sam muttered, obviously distracted by the three varieties of catnip mouse on offer.

“No, Sam, I want him to be _gone_ ,” Dean shot back. “I _am_ still speaking English here, right? This isn’t coming out in Swahili or anything?”

Sam tossed one of the mice—the most expensive one, Dean noticed—into the cart. “No, it’s English—should we get him the blue bed or the green one?”

“I’m serious, Sam!”

“Yeah, I like the blue better too.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean was in the middle of a wonderful dream about a sweet threesome he’d had with these twins a few months back. He was just getting to the good part—the things Tiffany _(or had it been Amber?)_ could do with her tongue had to be illegal—when something woke him up.

He blinked into his pillow for a few moments, trying to figure out what was going on, and then realized that he was vibrating. A few more seconds were enough to locate the source of the vibrations: heavy and almost suffocatingly hot on his back. And there was something tickling his nose. Something … something soft and furry, like …

Like a fucking tail.

Dean’s first instinct was to roll over and crush the damned thing, but he didn’t think he could move fast enough. Besides, ‘Jack’ wasn’t without weapons of his own, as Dean’s chest could attest.

So instead, he stayed perfectly still and yelled, “Sam!”

“Whassit?” Sam blurted, bolting up in the other bed.

“Get this fucking thing off me now.”

There was a moment of silence and then Sam said, “Aw, he looks so cute.”

Motherfucker. “ _Sam_ …”

“Okay, okay.” There was the ruffle of sheets and then that heavy, vibrating weight started to lift.

“Shit! Stop!” Dean swore as the cat sunk its claws into his back in an effort to stay where it was.

Sam immediately let go and stepped away. “Looks like he wants to sleep with you.” Jerk sounded like he was grinning.

“Pound. Tomorrow. First thing.”

“Guess we didn’t need that cat bed after all.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They didn’t find an animal shelter the next day, despite some very inventive detours on Dean’s part. When he got fed up with waiting for one to fall into their laps around lunchtime, he asked the waitress if she had any suggestions. The woman shrugged and pointed him to the phonebook dangling from the phone by the bathroom.

Dean went to check it out after he finished his burger and found all of the pertinent pages freshly torn out. He glared out the window at his brother, who had gotten up ‘to use the bathroom’ shortly after the waitress’ helpful suggestion. Sam looked back blandly from the passenger seat of the Impala, Jack purring in his lap.

When he finally found a place, Dean was leaving them _both_ there. Swear to God.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, Dean lay staring at the ceiling as he waited for the cat to make its move. He’d cut the little bastard off at the pass. Of course, Jack had spent all day sleeping in Sam’s lap while Dean had been increasingly agitated over his search for a shelter. When he woke up around two in the morning from a sleep that he hadn’t meant to slip into, he was disappointed but not really surprised.

Dean couldn’t see the cat at first because it had gotten underneath the covers this time. The rather large lump on his chest, as well as that solid weight pushing down on him, gave it’s position away though. When he lifted the sheet, Jack was smirking at him and kneading the thin fabric of his t-shirt with its paws. Those razor claws were just barely prickling against Dean’s skin: like a warning not to piss the cat off.

So instead of grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and tossing it back on the floor where it belonged, he gave it a tentative push and muttered, “Get off.”

Jack ignored the command and twisted its head to butt up against Dean’s hand, a deep rumble starting in its chest. The cat was softer than Dean had expected it to be. He ran one finger along Jack’s cheekbone, feeling the sleek fur there, and then realized what he was doing and started to pull back. Jack’s eyes narrowed and it slink-crawled up Dean’s chest after his hand.

“I’m not petting you,” Dean announced, and stuffed both of his hands under the pillow so that Jack couldn’t get at them.

Jack didn’t seem to mind. It had gotten distracted, and was now purring and rubbing its cheeks against Dean’s chin. Weird-ass cat.

After a few moments, it got bored with that and started sniffing along Dean’s face. Something that felt like sandpaper grazed his cheek and he flinched before he realized what it was. Damned cat had licked him.

Probably considering whether it would be worth eating Dean after it clawed him to death.

“Stop it!” he hissed.

Jack licked him again.

“Fucking cat.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Half a week later, Dean finally found an animal shelter. When he pulled up in front of the building, Sam’s brow furrowed and his lips drew into thin, angry lines. “We can’t leave him here! They’ll kill him.”

“It’s not death row, Sam: it’s a shelter. See?” He pointed at the wide white lettering on the side of the building. “S-H-E-L—”

“If no one adopts him within a few weeks, they’ll kill him,” Sam insisted. “That’s what shelters do.”

“Oh, come on: who’s gonna be able to resist that face?” Dean smarmed, and then, baring his teeth in a smile, he added, “Now get out of the fucking car and take the cat inside.”

“No.” Sam hugged Jack to his chest and Jack’s ears went back irritably. If Sam kept that up, he was gonna end up with his intestines on the floor. Dean didn’t have any objections to that _per se_ , but it would make an awful mess inside of the Impala, and his baby had been though enough _(fur, more fur, and a couple of hairballs)_ in the past few days.

“He doesn’t seem to like that,” Dean warned.

Sam glanced down at Jack and quickly loosened his grip before turning a pleading gaze back to Dean. “Look, just—just go in and ask them what they do to the animals. If you still want to leave him here, we can. Okay?”

Jesus Christ. “Fine,” Dean snapped, and got out of the car.

Five minutes later, he got back in and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Well?” Sam asked in a hopeful voice.

Dean was in Hell. Seriously, it couldn’t be worse than this moment right here: stuck in the car with his bleeding-heart brother and a cat that wouldn’t leave him alone. Dean started the car without a word and pulled out of the parking lot.

After fifteen minutes of silence, he cleared his throat and warned, “He’s still not staying.”

Sam stroked Jack’s back, a faint smile playing around the edges of his lips, and said, “Whatever you say, man.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a hell of a lot more difficult to find someone to adopt a cat than Dean had expected it would be. He tried to fob Jack off on motel clerks, waitresses, the recently bereaved they had to interview for hunts, and finally random people on the street. He’d almost managed to get Georgie ‘I’ll Be Eight in Five Months’ Cooke to take Jack, but then Georgie’s mother had come outside and put a stop to that particular attempt. Dean had been so _close_ , too.

Jack wasn’t helping, of course. Lazy bastard was getting fat, and if people weren’t biting at his offer of a lean cat, they were even less inclined to consider an overweight, unhealthy one. Dean noticed Jack’s increasingly thick layer of blubber, even if Sam was pretending to be oblivious. Then again, Sam wasn’t the one waking up to almost twenty pounds of cat perched on top of him every night.

Finally, Dean realized that he was putting himself through this misery needlessly and pointed the Impala toward South Dakota.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You have a _cat_?” Bobby said incredulously.

“We _had_ a cat,” Dean corrected him. “Now _you_ have a cat.” He held Jack out with both hands.

Bobby laughed uneasily and backed up a step. “I don’t think it would get along with the dogs.”

“Sure he would,” Dean pressed. “And if he doesn’t, then you save on dog food for a few days.”

“Dean!” Sam shouted in a prissy, horrified tone of voice.

“What? He’d last them at least that long.”

“Why don’t you two try Ellen?” Bobby suggested with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “She seems like a cat person.”

Dean agreed with an easygoing smile and then asked Bobby if they could stay for dinner. He tried to leave Jack inside Bobby’s downstairs bathroom when they left, but Sam noticed. Dean glowered and ignored the three stares of contempt directed his way.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Halfway to Ellen’s, Sam glanced over his shoulder and tensed. “Pull over,” he said urgently. “Something’s wrong with Jack!”

For some reason, Dean’s heart was hammering as he parked the Impala on the shoulder of the interstate. Jack had been acting strangely all morning, disdaining Sam’s _(and even Dean’s)_ lap for the backseat. His breath had been coming in strained pants for a while now, but Dean had been ignoring it fairly successfully. He couldn’t ignore the yowls that were suddenly filling the car though, and he hadn’t felt so fucking useless since Sam had been knocked unconscious by a poltergeist a few months back.

When Dean twisted to look at Jack, he found the cat standing on the seat in this strange, hunched position. There was something dark and wet hanging between its legs. Jack gave another earsplitting cry and the hanging thing dropped down onto the seat. Jack immediately paced around in a circle and started licking the tiny blob while something else started working its way out from the place Jack’s dick should have been.

“What the _fuck_?” Dean demanded.

Sam burst out laughing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A hour later, Dean was moping the backseat with one of Sam’s shirts—it was his fault the damned cat had been in the car in the first place, after all—while his brother played nursemaid up front.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know she was a girl,” Sam said.

“Me?” Dean demanded. “Why didn’t _you_ check? You spend enough time cuddling with the fucking thing.”

“You’re the one who sleeps with her every night.” Sam’s grin sharpened. “We shouldn’t be naming one of these Dean Jr., should we?”

“Okay, one: that’s sick. And two: we’re not naming them anything, cause we’re not keeping them.”

“You can’t separate children from their mother!” Sam protested.

“You’re right,” Dean responded placidly. “But since we’re not keeping Jack, that won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole? You like her, admit it.”

“Oh yeah. I love her. In fact, I was thinking that we should give this whole hunting thing up so we can look after her full time. You know: get a house in the country for her and the grandkids.”

“You’re a heartless prick, you know that?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, man.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ellen took one look at the kitten-filled cat bed Sam was cradling his arms and then slammed the door in their faces. After Dean had hammered on it for about ten minutes straight, she shouted, “No way, Winchester!” out the window.

“Aw, come on, Ellen,” Dean wheedled, doing his best to look innocent. “Just let us in for a minute so we can explain. If you still don’t want to help out, we’ll go. Promise.”

“I don’t think so,” Ellen returned. “Singer told me what you tried to do at his place. You walk in here and I’m gonna be digging kittens out of the sugar bowl. Now you just turn right back around and get.” She paused and then added, “And congratulations on your bundle of joy.” There was a garbled snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“I never liked her,” Dean grumbled as he pulled back out of her driveway. His brother was too busy trying to play with the kittens to respond.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam named the little fuzballs. There were five of them, and Dean couldn’t tell them apart. They all looked the same to him: like disasters waiting to happen. Impending Disaster One was called George, and Impending Disaster Two was Fred. Sam said they were both identical and inseparable, like that explained anything. Impending Disaster Three, who was a little bigger than the others, was Kong; Impending Disaster Four was Cleo because Sam said odds were that at least one of them had to be a girl. Despite Dean’s strenuous objections and one wrestling match that had given Dean a black eye and Sam a bloody nose, Sam persisted in calling Impending Disaster Five—the runt of the litter, ha ha—Dean Jr.

The kittens were a logistical nightmare.

When they were in the car, the damned things kept on falling out of the cat bed whenever Dean went over a bump, which meant he had to pull over at least once every half hour to get them back into place. He and Sam had to eat all their meals in the Impala because Sam was worried that the kittens would get dehydrated if the car got too warm.

When they weren’t traveling—when they were on a job—they needed someone to look after the ‘bundles of joy’: the one time they tried leaving them alone, they’d come back to find the kittens scattered to the four corners of the motel room. Dean Jr. had somehow managed to get himself stuck underneath the radiator, which was thankfully not on.

Sam suggested that they pay the motel clerk to look after the kittens, and Dean protested on purely financial grounds. No matter what Sam claimed, he certainly wasn’t worried about leaving ‘the kids’ alone with a stranger. Luckily, Sam wasn’t too hung up on the kitten-sitter idea himself, so Dean’s counter-suggestion that one of them stay home with the bumbling disasters while the other researched _(Sam, if Dean got lucky)_ or blew shotgun-sized holes in whatever they were hunting _(Dean, if Sam knew what was good for him)_ was quickly adopted.

The only good thing about having the kittens around was that Jack stopped bothering Dean in the middle of the night so that she could sleep with her children. At least, Dean told Sam that it was a good thing. For some reason, he found himself missing that heavy, vibrating weight. Only went to show that you could get used to anything if it went on long enough.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

About a month after Jack’s miraculous transformation from tomcat to mother, Dean woke from a sound sleep with a snort of instinctive laughter as something tried to burrow into his side.

“Dean?” Sam said, jerking awake in his own bed.

Dean yanked the sheet back from his body and stared in horror at the invasion of his bed. Jack was back with a vengeance, and she’d brought all five of her kittens with her.

“Sam!” he called.

“Well, _that’s_ really adorable.” Sam yawned, scratching at his head. “I should take a picture. Send it to Bobby.”

“You do and you die. Just get them off.” Dean held himself absolutely still as one of the more adventurous kittens tried to climb up onto his chest with its mother.

“They’ll just come back,” Sam pointed out.

“Then we’ll lock them in the bathroom. I’m serious, man: I’m gonna roll over and crush them.”

Sam blinked at him for a moment and then a slow, warm grin spread across his face. “You _like_ them.”

“What? No I don’t.”

Sam snorted laughter to himself, and then rolled over and ignored the rest of Dean’s pleas for help.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the morning, Dean woke up to a feeling of warmth and comfort. He was lying on his side with Fred and George curled up between his arms and his chest. Cleo was tucked into the small of his back, and Kong had found a nook for itself behind his right knee. Jack was draped around his head, and Dean Jr. was nestled underneath his chin.

They were all purring.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered on principal. He glanced over at Sam to make sure that he was still asleep before smiling.

Okay, maybe he liked them a little.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Dean! Seriously, they need to go already.”

“What? I thought you were the one who didn’t want to separate them from their mother.”

“That was almost a _year_ ago. And you aren’t the one who has to clean out the liter boxes, or make sure they’re fed or have enough water. All you do is play with them.”

“Hey, I do plenty. _I’m_ the one who has to give up my bed to the little bastards. Do you even know how much room they take up?”

“ _Snuggling_ is your big contribution?”

“I do _not_ ‘snuggle’.”

“Yeah, right. You keep telling yourself that.”

Muttered: "Bitch."

“I mean it, Dean. This is getting ridiculous. The other hunters are starting to talk: Bobby told me yesterday. Do you know that they’re calling the Impala the ‘catmobile’?"

Silence. Then, grudgingly: “Okay, but we’re keeping Jack and Dean Jr.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Turned out Jo wasn’t as wary as her mother about letting the Winchesters into her house. Dean was fairly certain that some of the words she hurled at them as they sped out of her driveway weren’t very ladylike. But really, Jack was purring too loudly for him to make anything out clearly.

She was probably just thanking them.


End file.
